


A Death Full of Light to Consume Me

by angryhausfrau



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28193784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryhausfrau/pseuds/angryhausfrau
Summary: This fic is for laufire's prompt of Anne/Max + “I have lost myself in the sea many times with my ear full of freshly cut flowers, with my tongue full of love and agony” for the Black Sails rarepair ficathon.Sorry this took me so dang long to post.The title and inspiration for this fic is taken from “Gacela of the Flight” by Federico Garcia Lorca.
Relationships: Anne Bonny/Max
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: Black Sails Rarepair Ficathon - Round 1





	A Death Full of Light to Consume Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laufire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laufire/gifts).



> This fic is for laufire's prompt of Anne/Max + “I have lost myself in the sea many times with my ear full of freshly cut flowers, with my tongue full of love and agony” for the Black Sails rarepair ficathon.  
> Sorry this took me so dang long to post.  
> The title and inspiration for this fic is taken from “Gacela of the Flight” by Federico Garcia Lorca.

Every time she leaves is the same.

Anne pulls herself from the tangle of blankets and limbs that do their best to trap her here in Nassau. Here in Max's arms. And even though Anne does her best not to wake Max when she leaves, she never succeeds. Max always blinks sleepily up at her with those Kohl rimmed eyes, so deep and dark and shining that Anne has to tear herself away from the spell of them before she tells Jack to go fuck himself and falls back into bed, never to leave again.

But as strong as the draw is to stay here with Max in the warm, safe intimacy of their bedroom – and God, but it's strong – the call of the sea will always beckon her. Maybe she'd never intended to become a pirate. Maybe she'd fallen into it more out of a desire to not starve to death than out of any sort of romantic idealization of the high seas - and the men that sail them - the way Jack had. But there is something freeing about the sea, about feeling the salt spray as she chases down a fat merchant ship, about being feared enough that no one and nothing can tell her who to be or how to live.

This is something Max understands, fortunately. And her own kind of power and freedom looks different, but she still feels that burning desire to live her life as her own, beholden to no one – free. So Max will always let Anne return to the sea, to her own type of freedom. But that doesn't mean she lets her go easy.

Every time she leaves is the same.

Anne gets up in the quiet dark of predawn to dress and leave and return to the sea. And Max stretches languidly, taking up the whole of the bed, letting the sheets fall away, letting her bare breasts and the tender skin of her stomach draw Anne's eye until all thoughts of Jack and piracy and her duties to the crew fall away and all she can think about is kissing Max, putting her mouth on her, worshiping every inch of visible skin until her mouth is bruised and Max is satisfied. And then Max beckons Anne with one lazy gesture – so sure of herself and her beauty and Anne's desire for her that she doesn't need to do more.

And every time, Anne proves her right by kissing her deep and tender and it's like drowning. Max is the breath in Anne's lungs and the crushing ocean stealing it away. She can't think of a single better way die – and she knows she will be reborn here in Max's arms time and time again.

Because Nassau may be built on the shifting sands of ambition and greed and plain stubborn cussedness. But Max is the earth – rich and dark and solid. A deep foundation beneath a house. A garden from which springs green and growing things.

And maybe Anne's been spending a little too much time with Jack lately, talking like that. But Max likes pretty words whispered in her ears just as much as she likes the other things Anne does with her.

Things like sucking dark bruises into the flesh of her breasts and thighs and belly – tender places, unseen by anyone else. And Anne always secretly hopes that the marks will remain until the next time they do this, until the next time Anne returns home. A reminder that this is a home, a safe harbor for her to return to again and again.

She moves her kisses further, deeper, to the heart of Max until she's got her face buried in Max's cunt. She's slick around Anne's tongue, dripping down her chin like biting into ripe fruit.

And Max is making tiny desperate gasps of pleasure as she combs distractedly through Anne's hair.

Anne grips Max's ass, pulls her closer, pushes deeper till she can't hardly breathe. And Max crosses her ankles over Anne's back, tightens the press of her thighs around Anne's face. Brings her deeper still into the heart of her.

Anne licks desperately into her. She's so wet, there's hardly any friction. And Anne would love to get a couple of fingers in Max, give her something more substantial to fuck against. But she's being held too tightly, there's no room between them even for her hands.

So Anne moves her mouth up to Max's clit, starts sucking on her. And Max bucks hard against Anne's chin, moaning broken and raw and _real_. Gripping desperately at Anne's hair and kicking bruises into her back with her heels as her orgasm breaks over her like a wave.

Max slumps back onto the bed, gasping. And Anne needs some time to recover, herself. Recover from the breathless wonder that being able to do this with Max, to Max, _for_ Max, still brings.

And then a panting, laughing, _joyous_ Max draws Anne up her body so that she can kiss her back to breathlessness.

Anne falls back into bed, held there by Max, who whispers tender words into her ear. Words of farewell, and of return. Promises for all the future times they will have together.

Anne presses her fingers to a bruise Max has left on her neck, just below the corner of her jaw. She accepts such marks as happily as she gives them. They're a tether back to Max and proof that there is someone waiting for her when she returns from the sea. So she'd better return safe and sound to mark and be marked again.

But eventually the sun creeps into their room, into their bed. A reminder that Anne has duties to other people than just Max. Duties other than bringing Max pleasure. And so she leaves, back to the sea.

Every time she leaves is the same.

Anne boards the ship with the echoes of Max's “goodbye my love, come back to me, my love, my love, my love” in her ears and the taste of her sharp in her mouth and thick and heavy on her tongue.


End file.
